Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“HARRY!” Hermione heard herself scream.

She felt her blood run cold as she watched Hagrid carry Harry’s lifeless body from the forest.

Even though she knew that he entered the forest intending to die, she still expected her best friend to return to her unharmed.

He was Harry Potter, the boy who lived. He couldn’t just die. He couldn’t.

So, when Harry lept from Hagrid’s arms and rejoined the fray, she seemed to be the only one who believed it without doubt.

She jumped into action, running towards her best friend, her brother. Summoning as much strength as she could muster, she threw her wand to him, praying he would catch it.

Harry lept and caught her wand in his hand, turning on Voldemort and firing off defensive spells without pause.

Wandless, Hermione could handle a Scourgify here or there and the occasional Accio, but was far from where she needed to be in this moment, standing in the middle of a battlefield without a wand.

She made to turn and run back to the castle and find a wand there when the very cackle that haunted her nightmares sounded behind her.

“Hello, mudblood,” Bella cooed. “Here for more?”

Hermione whipped around, coming face to face with the witch who tortured her just days ago.

“Looking to get the artwork I left on your arm signed?” Bellatrix cackled through her crooked teeth.

Hermione grit her teeth together, focusing on harnessing the magic within her. She felt the familiar warmth of magic course through her veins; before she could manage a shield, a spell, anything, Bellatrix whipped her wand and threw a wordless curse at Hermione’s chest.

All she could hear was a familiar voice yelling her name before the world went black.

“Come on, Draco!” Hermione pulled him through the glass doors of the drawing room. “You promised me a picnic in the snow!”

Draco slid his arm through her grasp until he could intertwine their fingers. He couldn’t remember having such a lovely winter break before this. His father was off on business, and his mum let Hermione stay at their French estate with them.

“Alright, alright. You’ve got me out here, no need to keep yanking me,” he chastised through a smile.

“I will stop yanking when you move your sorry arse faster! If you walk any slower, fifth year will be over and done before we get there!” she continued, dragging him by their clasped hands.

Hermione looked lovely, he thought while admiring the muggle snow gear she demanded they wear even though Narcissa had offered to cast warming charms for them.

She had a giant coat, a fuzzy hat with a bauble, and, Draco’s favorite part of the ensemble, fluffy-looking pants that highlighted her arse just enough that he couldn’t stop staring.

He let her pull him from the back patio and out into the gardens of their vast estate in the French countryside. It wasn’t as big as the manor in Wiltshire, but Draco felt more at home here than anywhere else. Sharing it with Hermione only made the feeling grow.

If he was honest with himself, Draco had loved her for a long time. He’d never be able to repay Snape for pretending not to notice that he changed the pairings list for the first group project of the year to have him and Hermione paired up.

A few quiet nights of brewing and they were able to break the ice, allowing Draco to apologize for his past behavior and explain that he didn’t believe in the blood purity bullshit that his father liked to spit at him. That he hadn’t believed it since right around the time she broke his nose in third year.

After his apology, he and Granger were fast friends and even faster lovers.

Despite the need to keep their relationship secret for obvious reasons, he had never felt anything so real before. They just fit. His snarky self-preservation and her quick-witted bravery complimented each other in ways he couldn’t even describe when his mother asked him.

Despite only having become a couple in September, Draco could honestly say he was fully enamored with the witch, he just hadn’t told her that yet…

“This spot looks good!” Hermione called out once they reached a large oak tree at the edge of the forest that lined their property.
Reaching into her (definitely illegal) magically extended coat pockets, Hermione pulled out a large blanket and a picnic basket.

“Help me spread this out, would you?” she said as she handed him one end of the blanket.

Together they fluffed out the large blue blanket and sat down in the middle of it with their shoulders touching.

Hermione leaned further into Draco’s side and sighed.

“I wish this break was longer.”

Draco pressed a kiss to her ridiculous hat. “I know, Min. But we can still enjoy the days we have left. It’s only Thursday”

She scowled and Draco wished he could kiss that look straight off her face.

“I know it’s only Thursday, but break is nearly over! And I’ve only just gotten used to not having to pretend we’re not in a relationship! I just wish it was like this at school, Draco,” she turned to face him. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” he assented. “I wish I could shove it in everyone’s face that I’ve got you on my arm. No one else.” He pursed his lips in thought. “But you know we can’t, darling.”

Hermione huffed at that.

“I know, I know. But I just—” she let out a sniffle— “I just want to be able to walk with you to class and hold your bloody hand and kiss you after quidditch matches and- and…”

“Hermione,” he wrapped an arm around her, “I want all of that too. And we will be able to be seen together soon. But I just… my father—”

“I know. I’m sorry. It just hurts.” She brushed her hair behind her ears. “As lovely as this holiday has been, it also just reminds me of everything we don’t get to do when we go back to Hogwarts.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco leaned towards her, “I'm so sorry that you have to deal with all of this just for me. I wish things were different but I,” he choked on his words, “I love you, Hermione. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Hermione’s head shot toward him. “You love me?”

A blush made its way up Draco’s neck. “I do. I understand if you don't feel that way about me. I know being with me is more difficult than it's worth and we’ve only been together a few months and we’re not even properly courting and—”

She cut him off with a kiss. Without hesitation, his hands reached up to cup her cheek, finding their way up into her curls, pulling her head back to further seal their lips together.

They pulled away breathless.

Hermione reached up and took his face in both hands to hold him to her, smiling up at him. “I love you too, Draco”

Nothing else mattered.

“Malfoy,” Potter strode into the room with a rushed knock, pulling Draco from his memory.

“Hm?” Draco answered noncommittally.

He stood with his back to the door, peering into a cauldron to evaluate his work.

“Alright, mate? I know you’ve been working long shifts lately.”

Draco’s whole body tensed at Potter calling him “mate.” Just because he’d been working on saving Granger for a year now didn’t make them friends.

But he’d finally had a breakthrough.

It involved inventing an entirely new method of deconstructing and identifying curses, but he would stop at nothing to wake Hermione from the coma that plagued her.

Which is why, against his better judgment, he invited Potter and the Weasel to his office at St. Mungo’s.

When Draco didn’t answer, Potter continued, “So you’ve figured out the curse then?”

“Yes, I have,” Draco replied dryly over his shoulder.

“Then why isn’t she awake yet?”

“Because, Potter,” he spat, turning from the cauldron, “just because I know what it is doesn’t mean I can cure her.”

As soon as Draco realized Potter was alive during the final battle, his top priority was Hermione. He nearly lost his mind when he saw her throw her wand, her only defense, to Potter.

He’d immediately abandoned his parents and sprinted towards her, desperate to ensure her safety. Even if she hated him.

Bellatrix got to her before he did.

Before Hermione’s body hit the ground, Draco’s first and last killing curse left his wand.

He ran past Bella’s body and knelt over Hermione.

Beginning to panic, Draco began to feel around her head and neck for any obvious signs of trauma and found none. He gently moved lower and lower still, until his hand came back bloody from the massive gash on her abdomen. Hands shaking, he aimed his wand and began casting healing spells to seal the wound.

Weasley ran towards them screaming, but Draco could not afford to be interrupted. Throwing up a forcefield, he blocked Weasley and everyone else from nearing them.

Hermione’s shirt was cut through, revealing her pale stomach and bra.

Draco shucked off his cloak and used it to cover her.

“Please, love. You’ve got to wake up,” he begged when her eyes weren’t opening.

He cast a diagnostic spell, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw her pulse fluttering weakly.

If it weren’t for the deep purple cloud surrounding her brain, her vitals would have looked completely normal.

“Rennervate!” he tried, but she didn’t wake.

He tried the spell again. And again. And again.

"Hermione," he whispered brokenly, pressing his forehead to hers as if he could breathe life back into her by sheer force of will. "Please. You have to come back. Please."

“Minnie, please!” he desperately pounded his fists into the ground, ignoring the sting of gravel cutting his knuckles.

But nothing happened.

Desperate to cure her, he spent the following month completing a fast-track healer program at St. Mungos and quickly proved himself as a healer. With only a little blackmail, he was able to ensure his assignment to Hermione’s case.

Weasley came sauntering into the room, late as usual.

“What’s this about not curing her?” Ron queried. He walked around Draco's desk squaring his shoulders, teeth bared. “You’re not just giving up on her?! I bloody knew we never should have trusted a godsdamned death ea—”

“Ron, mate. Stop,” Harry urged, pulling Ron back. “He’s figured out the curse, but he doesn’t have the cure. Yet.” he said with a pointed look at Draco.

Weasley backed out of Draco’s space at that and stood waiting for further explanation.

“You see, Weasley,” Draco drawled. “I have been able to identify the curse and its cure, but, I cannot cure her on my own.”

Ron cocked his head to one side. Harry narrowed his eyes.

“It’s referred to as the ‘Pulchra Somno,’—the Sleeping Beauty. It is an ancient spell, used to put whoever is cursed into a deep sleep, only able to be woken by their soulmate. The cure requires a complex potion containing the blood of their soulmate: the individual whose magical core, or soul, matches their own.”

Draco cleared his throat and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“Which is why,” he continued, “I’ll need your help. Assuming one of you two is her soulmate.”

Harry gawked at him. “Soulmate?! Malfoy, Hermione and I were never involved like that! I’m with Ginny! I—-”

“Calm down, Potter. You two are the people she’s closest to, it is not to say that either of you is supposed to be in love with her. I just… assumed it might be one of you, considering your history.”

Ron smirked. “Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll have Mione up and awake by the end of the day. I know she’s my soulmate. I can feel it,” he said, straightening up and correcting the dumb slouch he’d taken on while listening to Draco.

A flash of pain flooded Draco at Weasley’s words, but he shook his head and turned back to the cauldrons behind them.

“Alright,” he began, "I've already added Granger’s magical signature to these,” he gestured at two cauldrons bubbling with a sickly yellow liquid. “All I’ll need to test it is a drop of blood from either of you.”

“If it means saving Hermione,” Harry stepped over to one of the cauldrons and held his hand over it. “Ginny is gonna bloody kill me if this works, you know,” he laughed before drawing his wand and using it to slice his palm.

A drop of blood hit the potion with a hiss. Instantly, the potion turned a putrid fuschia color.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Harry turned to Draco.

“I suppose in your case it is, Potter,” he smirked. “It should turn blue if you’re her soulmate.”

Harry let out a comical sigh of relief. “Not that I don’t want to save her, but I think I’d rather not have to explain to Ginny that Hermione and I are soulmates,” he said while healing his hand.

Draco’s lips curled into a grin. He’d always been more fond of Ginerva than the other Weasleys. Even if she’d gone and married the git who lived twice.
“Alright,” said Ron, nearly shoving Draco into the potion-filled cauldron. “My turn.”

He slashed through his palm much too vigorously for Draco’s taste and let two large droplets of blood fall into the cauldron below.

Just as before, the potion hissed before turning that awful pink color once more.

A sigh of relief overtook Draco before he could help it.

“Bollocks!” Ron shouted. “You’ve bloody done it wrong, Malfoy.”

Draco scoffed. “I assure you, Weasley, my potion is exactly correct.”

“But this means,” Ron shook his head in disbelief, backing away slowly. “This means we aren’t soulmates, that we aren’t supposed to be together. And I-- I’ve been waiting for her! This whole bloody time I could’ve been searching for someone else and I’ve been pining after her like a fool!”

“Ron,” Harry patted his shoulder, “just because she isn’t your soulmate doesn’t mean she won’t want to be with you when she wakes up”

“Oh, bollocks!” Ron shouted. “We all know bloody well that no one in their right mind would go after anyone other than their soulmate once they knew who they were!”

Draco simply stood there, equally shocked and grateful that Weasley’s magical core didn’t match Hermione’s.

After even more tantrums and pouting from Weasley, he and Potter left, Potter promising to send a list of names of other potential soulmates for Hermione.

With the melancholy mood that settled over him, Draco’s feet dragged him to the only place where he felt a semblance of peace.

Making his way through the labyrinth of St. Mungo's corridors, he followed the pathway engraved on his heart. The familiar twists and turns of the hallways he knew so well he could walk them blind brought him a strange sense of comfort as he made his way to her room.

Taking a deep breath as he approached her door, he steeled himself as he knocked twice, waiting a polite amount of time for the answer he knew wouldn’t come before opening the door.

He closed the door behind him and turned to view her in her hospital bed. Her curls were in a braid (courtesy of the braiding charms Narcissa taught Draco specifically for Hermione’s hair), resting on her shoulder. She looked peaceful laying there, tucked under a white sheet and a Weasley quilt.

She looked the same as the day she was cursed but for the freckles on her face that faded with lack of exposure to the sun.

Draco slowly approached the bed, sinking into the chair at her bedside that he occupied during most (would be all if it weren’t for Pansy and his mother dragging him away to eat) of his time spent not clocked in as a healer.

He reached for her hand and entwined her fingers with his.

“I’m so sorry darling. I promise I will find whoever they are and cure you. You deserve to live out your life with your perfect match, your soulmate,” he brought her hand to his mouth, stopping just short of kissing her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.